


Fire & Ice

by mylucidskin (alyelle)



Category: Lost
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-07
Updated: 2007-02-07
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:11:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyelle/pseuds/mylucidskin





	Fire & Ice

**I. Fire**

_He doesn’t remember when it started._

_He can’t tell when he crossed the line, when care became love, protection became possession. Can’t recall the breath he took that made his heart start beating for her._

_He doesn’t realise that it’s always been this way._

He remembers the little girl she was. In the dark, with silent stars for company, it’s easy. _Too easy_ , he fears. Too easily shattered. He knows how it will end - doors flinging open, a stream of teenagers engulfing his calm. King and Queen first - she’d be Queen, obviously. She simply demanded it; every movement she ever made was done with the innate knowledge that _she_ was the star. She always had been. A star plucked from his silent sky; a star of single purpose. Disrupt the cool quiet he cloaks himself in, ignite flames under his skin. _Erase, rewind. Repeat._

She’d enchanted him the second they met; he’d almost thought she was a princess. Silky swathes of ice blue had trailed gracefully in her wake. The immaculate French twist became somehow more perfect as a few curls escaped their confine and fell into her eyes. Her eyes. Hazel eyes, eyes that glittered with knowledge too old for their seven years. Eyes that sent unexplainable chills racing down his spine every time he dared to meet them.

Through high school she wove a web around him, delicate and insidious as any spider. Every sneering look she threw him, every contemptuous toss of her hair, every boyfriend she paraded under his nose - every breath she took drew him inexorably nearer. Closer. Close enough that he now sat patiently, uncaring of the seconds-minutes-hours it cost him.

 _Ladies and gentlemen_ , he smirks to himself, _meet Boone. Slave to Shannon’s whims and designated prom night driver._

He sees it begin, light fracturing the blackness, staining the ground. Not the throng he’s expecting; one slight figure treading cautiously. Furtively. The starlight catches green satin, throws it back to him with a name, an identity. It is unnecessary. Even in pitch dark he’d know who it was.

“What are you doing out here?” Eyes cast down, she absently brushes hair from mascara-stained cheeks. “Shan?”

Flames prick him, sparking orange-red-gold. She lifts tired eyes and sighs, leans in beside him.

“I needed space,” and her fingers trace the hem of his shirt.

“Space?” An eyebrow raised, his hands on her hips. Her palms slide up his back, around his neck.

“Space. Air,” and her mouth finds his, her skin incendiary. She’s burning him again.

**II. Ice**

_She doesn’t remember why it started._

_She can’t tell anymore if it was jealousy, insecurity, fear. Can’t recall when toying with him became anything more than simple revenge._

_She doesn’t realise it never was._

His eyes are on her again, calming and cool. They soothe the boiling inside, fan down the flames under her skin so exquisitely it’s almost enough to make her plead. To beg him to sweep his gaze over her just once more.

His eyes have always followed her, right from the start. She remembers how they looked then, icy and remote. And so transparent, unable to conceal the merest thing he felt or thought. His eyes haven’t changed. He hasn’t changed, but she has.

When she was younger they’d frightened her, the eyes that knew her movements better than she did. They were violent eyes; their glacial depths chilled her on even the warmest day. She would drown in them if she let herself, she knew it. They were devouring her slowly, piece by piece, every time they came to rest on her.

Her father’s eyes had been blue. Not the same blue as Boone’s - as her _brother’s_ , she’d reminded herself. They’d once followed her in the same way his did. But Daddy’s eyes had danced for her, until he met Sabrina. Then all she had left was Boone. Boone was silence and responsibility and cold Artic depths. Boone’s eyes never danced.

She had his attention though, and attention was enough, she though. She learned what captured it, what kept it, and how his eyes responded. Teasing him left blood-red flushes across his cheeks and navy pinwheel sparkles; insults just made him silent, a statue of ice glaring at her with twin sapphires. Her fingers, allowed to brush imperceptibly as she stalked past, drew cherry-plum embarrassment to his face. Once she kissed him; they were both too drunk, and too drunk to care. Then, only then, did his eyes dance for her.

Somewhere, she’s not sure where, it changed. The pleasure of the game faded, dulled to an ache. She realised she needed him. Needed his eyes on her, watching, following, _possessing_. She needed him like she’d once needed her father.

She needs him still and she hates herself for it.

**III. Meltdown**

_They don’t remember how it started._

_They can’t find the beginning of the game, where they began the rituals of pretend hatred. They’ve lost track of all the ways they’ve found themselves, his fingers tracing along her spine._

_They can’t count how many times she’s bitten her lip to stay silent, how many times he’s kissed away her tears. Can’t recall the number of nights he’s laid awake holding her, long after the shuddering has ceased. They don’t remember anything before the dark pressing in around them, the starlight reflecting from her dress and gathering in his eyes._

_They realise they never knew anything before they knew each other._


End file.
